Pride Eyes
by Hisui Rai
Summary: A moment of Truth at a Marching Band Compettion my Freshman year


Patty Kloeckner  
  
2nd hour  
September 24, 2002  
Moment of Truth  
  
"Left, left, left, two, three, four. Left, left, left, two, three, four." Words muttered under my breath in time to drum clicks, an occasional glance to either side to make sure I'm in line with the rest of my row as we walked, or rather, marched. Remember: head up, shoulders back, eyes.eyes with pride. There it is. The field. The field with its looming stands. We march on to the grass. It rained last night; the green grass is slippery and wet. Someone slips, but they don't fall, thankfully. We stand, eyes focused on some invisible point ahead of us. The field, with its precise, white lines and its vibrant orange markers, is waiting, taunting us. Daring us to step one foot on it. To defy it and win. We're announced, all the thousands of eyes swing to focus on our ninety- some, identically clothed ensemble. The wind is whipping us, blustering at our plumes, snapping the flags. Megan and Libby's capes are blowing as they whistle for us to move onto the field like the good, obedient little flunkies we are. My heart is pounding. My brain is numb. Oh, God! What have I gotten myself into? I can't march! I don't know the drills! What's our first song? Which is left? We're starting. Where am I going? I-I know the drill! Or at least my feet do. My fingers move in unison with everyone else's without my brain telling them to. I have the music memorized? When did this happen? In a stupor, I go through the drills and the songs. The snare drummer begins his cadence after we snap our instruments down. We're marching off the field. We did it! We marched our Blood, Sweat, and Tears routine! A feeling of elation surges through me. We're off the field now. I hazard a glance back. It isn't so scary anymore. Will I be less scared next year? A calm, cool veteran by the time I'm a senior? I don't know. All I know is that I'm sick of this stupid uniform, so lets hurry up and take the picture already! One more? Only if I get to hit that annoying Geoff when we're done. Snap! Flash! FINISHED! Finally. Hurriedly, I fill out a picture order form. Check this, sign that, DONE! I call out a challenge to race someone to the bus. Running, weaving around fellow band members, the wind blowing my two long braids behind my shoulders. Gasping, I grab my knees, trying to catch my breath. I race up the bus steps, pushing past other, loitering, students. Time to get out of this hot, sweat-soaked uniform. I unzip the white, "drink nothing but water when you wear this" jacket, baring my sweat-plastered band shirt. I quickly pull my suspenders down, over my shoulders. Black pants off, make sure the creases line up. Hang them on their hanger, jacket over it. Marching shoes and regulation black socks stuffed in their bag. Pull on my sandals. Now, time to take out my dowsing rod and figure out which surburban is hiding that beloved water cooler. Relax now. It's over. Sip the water slowly. Chatting with some other students. We should get a one. We were the best! Surely we got a one. We must have. What?!? The news comes back. A two?! No! No. No. It must be some other band.right? But no. It was right. The Glenwood High School Marching Rams, with their wonderful routine using awesome songs by Blood, Sweat, and Tears, received a lousy two at State marching competition. But what's this? On the bus ride back, the band, why, it's almost cheerful! I guess.I guess a two isn't so bad after all. That was two years ago. So much calmer now, I save my excitement for after we get that one. Or the two as the case may be. I've learned that getting less than perfect is sometimes, well, perfect. It isn't the end of the world if a cool, calm senior doesn't have a perfect marching band record, even if it might seem like it to one small, excitable, paranoid freshman. Because my shoulders are always back, my head always up, and my eyes always filled with pride. Pride for my school, my band, and, especially, pride for me. 


End file.
